


With a Little Help from my Friends

by TwoGeeseHearts



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (but only kind of?), Alpha Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Anal Fingering, Attempt at Humor, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Coitus Interruptus, Crack, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, Fluff, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Omega Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Rimming, So Many Clichés!, Soft Seungcheol, medical emergencies, mild coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoGeeseHearts/pseuds/TwoGeeseHearts
Summary: Alpha Seungcheol is enamored with new omega trainee Jihoon, and his friends are nothing if not helpful.Or, a collection of snapshots from Seungcheol and Jihoon's evolving relationship.





	With a Little Help from my Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weerus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weerus/gifts).



> Our dear Weerus-- thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Also, please forgive me as I took so, so many liberties with trainee life, Seventeen's schedule, medical afflictions, and pretty much everything else!

"Do you like whales? Because we could go _hump back_ at my place."

"Well, that's just stupid. His place _is_ my place."

“Are you feeling a little down? ‘Cause I can help _feel you up_.”

“Oh, gross—no.”

“Those are some nice pants! Mind if I help _test the zipper_?”

“Definitely not.”

“Well, hyung, if you’re just gonna be _picky_ …”

“I’m not!” Seungcheol snaps defensively, though his edge is immediately softened by the looks he’s receiving from Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Junhui. “Sorry. I just—I think I might… like him?” He can hear himself whining, but he’s unable to stop, even when he sees Jeonghan’s eyes roll back in his head. “I don’t want to open with some creepy pick-up line.”

“You don’t even know him. He literally _just_ got here five days ago. Honestly, I’m not even sure what you see in that kid in the first place.” Jeonghan’s looking at Jihoon across the room, unabashedly sizing him up with pursed lips. Seungcheol’s gaze follows. “He’s kind of… _tiny_.”

Seungcheol doesn’t reply. Soonyoung’s just said something that Jihoon apparently finds hilarious. His body shakes with laughter, causing the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth to tug upward, contorting his lips into a dopey smile.

“And scary,” Mingyu chimes in.

“I know, right?” Seungcheol answers in a swoon, having already tuned out of their conversation.

Suddenly, both Jihoon and Soonyoung are looking in their direction. Everyone, save Seungcheol, diverts their gaze and shuffles around in an attempt to look pseudo-natural. Jeonghan punches Mingyu affectionately in the arm, and Junhui kicks at an imaginary dust bunny. Seungcheol’s simply frozen. And _thrilled_. “Guys, he’s looking over here. What should I do?”

“Stop _staring_ , for starters,” Jeonghan hisses, but Seungcheol apparently has other plans.

“I’m gonna wave.”

“No. Don’t wave. Don’t wave, man. That’s so uncool—“ Junhui tries to coach him through it, but he’s abruptly cut off by Seungcheol raising his arm and enthusiastically wobbling his hand from side to side like a ragdoll.

Jihoon does not look entertained. His nostrils flare, eyebrows pinching inward. He looks mildly disgusted and fully confused. Seungcheol retracts his hand, jamming it back into his pocket. “Yeah. So, waving’s—waving’s not cool.” He doesn’t look put off by Jihoon’s reaction. Instead, he inhales an airy breath, continuing to watch the object of his affection even as Jihoon turns back to his conversation. “He’s the prettiest omega I’ve ever _seen_.”

The other three observe Seungcheol’s love-struck behavior with a combination of amusement and good-natured pity, because even though it has only been one week since Jihoon joined their group of trainees, Seungcheol was already gone.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Let it be known, he’s been _assured_ that this will work.

“I like your shirt,” Seungcheol murmurs, quietly enough to where everyone in the practice room won’t overhear their conversation. He leans sideways so his arm bumps Jihoon’s shoulder. Jihoon’s right eyebrow shoots upward, but he waits for Seungcheol to finish. “What’s it made of— _boyfriend material_?”

Jihoon blinks. Seungcheol shifts from one foot to another. There’s complete and utter silence for an uncomfortable period of time. Seungcheol’s starting to count the seconds in his head. When he reaches fifteen, he opens his mouth, poised to repeat himself. Turns out that’s not necessary.

“… _What_?”

Jihoon’s frowning. He definitely heard him the first time, and Seungcheol immediately regrets his plan of attack. “What? I don’t—“ Desperate for an out, he spies Seokmin across the room, and he’s suddenly sputtering, “What’s that, Seokmin? Sorry, Jihoon—I’ve gotta… I’m just gonna…” and makes haste to side-step Jihoon and dart over toward Seokmin. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see someone snickering.

Let it also be known, this is the _last_ time he takes advice from one Wen Junhui.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

He’s not even sure _how_ he did it, but Seungcheol is positive that Yoon Jeonghan cheated. One minute, Seungcheol had two cards left, as opposed to the veritable stack that Jeonghan was fisting. The next minute, Jeonghan was slapping down card after card, a blur of blues and yellows, of reverses, skips, and draws. There wasn’t even time for a breath between when he shouted _Uno!_ and when the last card was flopped proudly on the top of the heap. While Seungcheol was frantically digging through the discard pile to make sense of the sudden twist of fate, Jeonghan slapped a hand on his back and cackled, “Good luck waking up Jihoon tomorrow.”

And this is how he finds himself with the unenviable task of rousting the most stubborn member from his cocoon of sheets and blankets.

“Jihoon?” His first attempt is gentle, almost a whisper, trying to be understanding of the fact that Jihoon is a wee bit more temperamental than the average bear, especially when he’s still foggy with sleep. The sun hasn’t quite started to peek through the curtains, and even though everyone else has already made enough noise to wake the entire neighborhood, Jihoon is still clinging onto the last vestiges of his peaceful slumber.

Seungcheol takes a moment to watch the sleeping form before him. Jihoon’s head long since abandoned its position on his pillow, and his face has been smashed against the mattress, distorting Jihoon into a chubby-cheeked version of himself. Seungcheol resists the urge to pinch those ruddy cheeks (Seungcheol wagers this is the quickest possible route to certain death) and, instead, sits on the bed and rubs a hand along Jihoon’s blanket-covered arm. “Time to wake up...”

“Don’t wanna.”

“C’mon, Jihoon—you’re the only one still in bed,” Seungcheol reasons. “I’ll get you something tasty for breakfast.”

The only response Seungcheol receives is the light puff of air that escapes Jihoon’s lips. Seungcheol tries again, this time pushing against Jihoon’s shoulder, rocking his body to-and-fro. “Jihoon.”

Jihoon grunts at the disturbance and twists his head to the other side. His body wiggles down in the bed until only a shiny shock of black hair pokes out from the blanket.

Exasperated, Seungcheol sighs. “Jihoon, I’m not leaving until you’re out of bed.” But Jihoon isn’t playing this game. He neither moves nor responds, and Seungcheol feels his patience being depleted.

“Jihoon, it’s time to get up.” His fingers reach to grip the hem of the comforter, but his body is suddenly being jerked forward, and Seungcheol is met with a face full of pillow. Disoriented, he picks his head up to analyze his predicament, only to find Jihoon’s thin fingers curled around his wrist and Jihoon’s face nuzzling against the flat of his chest.

“Five more minutes, hyung.”

Seungcheol knows Jihoon is only semi-conscious and will vehemently deny that any of this happened. He also knows it’s possible that Jihoon is merely taking advantage of Seungcheol’s soft-hearted personality. However, as Seungcheol feels Jihoon’s breath heat his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt, he finds it hard to care, and his body relaxes into the give of the mattress. His arms maneuver to protectively wind around Jihoon’s torso.

“Five more minutes,” he concedes, lips whispering into the hair at the crown of Jihoon’s head. Seungcheol’s eyes close, and he allows himself to enjoy this rare, peaceful moment with the omega.

He isn’t sure how long they lay there together, but his heartbeat soon slows to match Jihoon’s steadfast rhythm. He can feel himself being coaxed into unconsciousness just as the door creaks open.

“Seungcheol, what the hell?” His eyes blink open, revealing a rather displeased-looking Jeonghan.

He may be getting a sour look, but absolutely nothing can dull his elation. “Five more minutes,” Seungcheol replies dreamily, burrowing his nose into the strands of Jihoon’s hair and inhaling the sleeping omega’s scent. His eyes close once again, and he tightens his hold around Jihoon.

“You’re terrible at this.”

The next thing he hears is Jeonghan padding out of the room and assuring the others, “They’ll be out in five.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Jihoon’s hair is pink, and Seungcheol knows that, henceforth, every precious memory he retains shall be categorized as either occurring Before The Pink or After The Pink.

He finds himself staring at Jihoon’s reflection in the mirrored wall of the practice room, following the rose-tinted strands with enough intensity that his gross motor skills begin to suffer. The dance suddenly becomes tricky, and Seungcheol finds himself making mistakes. When he nearly drops Seokmin flat on his face, Seungcheol manages to eke out some semblance of an apology.

Whoever decided it was appropriate to choreograph this many hip rolls, sways, grinds, and shimmies is on his hit list. Fuckin’ Soonyoung.

Seungcheol does his honest-to-goodness best to avoid Jihoon, but his dancing is powerful and beautiful, worthy of Seungcheol’s unwavering attention.

He’s fairly certain the omega does not feel the same attraction toward him.

Now, some alphas—they simply _take_ what they want. Seungcheol knows that, physically, he could do it. He could easily overpower Jihoon. But because he’s not a dick, because Seungcheol prides himself on not being one of _those_  alphas, he aims for their courtship to be nothing but polite. Gentle. Respectful. And as he watches Jihoon's hips sway with the beat and runs his tongue along the soft flesh of his bottom lip, he decides that he wants to respect the _hell_  out of Jihoon right now. Maybe let him use his face as a seat. Maybe ask him to work those hips a little, rub himself down against Seungcheol’s mouth and coat his lips in slick.

He can feel his pants growing tighter, and before things become embarrassing, Seungcheol delivers a half-hearted excuse to their manager and makes a beeline for the restroom.

The instant the locked is engaged, Seungcheol unfastens his pants and shoves them down, only far enough to expose his half-hard erection. Without lube, he improvises, licking his palm hastily, in too much of a hurry to even scour the bathroom for lotion, and wraps a hand around his cock, giving a few tentative strokes. Relief floods his senses immediately, and he leans heavily into the door behind him. His shoulder blades press uncomfortably against the smooth wood.

He’s had so many dreams about Jihoon that it’s not difficult to supply his brain with fantasy material. His eyes flutter closed, and he imagines Jihoon on the bed, splayed out and pliant with three of Seungcheol’s fingers buried to the knuckle inside him. Jihoon would cry out for him ( _Seungcheol, please—I’m ready!_ ), and after withdrawing his fingers at a torturously slow pace, Seungcheol would lift them to his own mouth and suck hungrily, lapping at the viscous slick.

Seungcheol is picturing the flush across Jihoon’s milky skin as he thumbs over his tip, spreading the precum down his shaft, making the slide easier. His knees wobble with anticipation.

Jihoon would be bossy, wouldn’t he? Even in his pheromone-laden haze, Seungcheol would let Jihoon take the lead if he wanted, let Jihoon push him down on the bed and lower himself onto Seungcheol’s cock. He would lean up to meet Jihoon’s lips when offered, licking into the crease between them.

Jihoon isn’t known for making things easy, and he would have just enough presence of mind to tease Seungcheol a little, force his hips to still by pressing surprisingly strong hands into the meat of his thighs. He’d grind his ass against Seungcheol in tiny circles as Seungcheol begs to thrust up into his tight heat. “ _No, baby_ ,” Jihoon would coo, “ _Be a good boy. Your omega gets to come first_.”

Seungcheol whines at the imagined pet name ( _good boy, **good boy**_ ), and his hips buck forward, fucking into his hand with unparalleled desperation. “Jihoon, please—please let me come,” he begs in a hushed whisper as the Jihoon in his mind grins wickedly and runs his fingers up the length of his own cock. He’s so, _so_ close, and he can feel his toes curl inside his shoes.

“Seungcheol! What the hell are you doing in there? I’ve gotta take a piss, yeah?”

In a flurry of panic, Seungcheol’s hand grips the base of his dick, causing him to double over with a groan. He sucks air in through his nostrils, steadying himself. “Uhh—okay. Yeah. Just—just give me a second.”

It takes him a minute to right himself. He tucks his wilting cock back into his pants, flushes the toilet, and gives his hands a brief wash. When he opens the bathroom door, Jeonghan is patiently waiting on the other side. “Sorry. It’s all yours.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Seungcheol calls in every favor he has – and bribes the other members with a paid dinner – to get the two of them alone in the dorm tonight. He doesn’t fancy himself much of a chef, but he’s worked _hard_ this evening, determined to impress Jihoon. He’s chosen to make doenjang jjigae. It always reminds him of home, and he’s hoping Jihoon will appreciate the gesture if nothing else.

Truth be told, Seungcheol had felt a bit out of his depth and had asked Mingyu for help. The two of them did a dry run almost a week ago, and as Seungcheol is cutting green onions to finish the stew ( _Fingers curled, hyung, or you might lose one!_ ), he reminds himself to treat Mingyu later this week.

They move over to the table, and Seungcheol places a bowl in front of Jihoon before sitting across from him. Jihoon plops a clump of rice into the stew and proceeds to shovel a spoonful into his mouth. Jihoon makes an appreciative grunt, and Seungcheol feels a surge of confidence.

Over the past several months, he and Jihoon have grown quite close. Jihoon was certainly not an easy nut to crack, but now, Seungcheol can make him smile more often than not, even on his worst days. Seungcheol has grown to truly admire Jihoon’s tough exterior while not losing sight of his sensitive interior. The two of them laugh together and share in each other’s burdens. He’s told Jihoon all his most crippling fears, and the omega trusts Seungcheol with his own doubts.

For Seungcheol, what started off as mere physical attraction has slowly morphed into something entirely new and different. What began as lust has evolved into appreciation, allure into respect.

They start chatting—not about anything in particular, but these are the conversations Seungcheol loves. In these rare moments when they are truly alone, Seungcheol feels that he can see straight past Jihoon’s prickly facade. It’s like he’s being given a gift, like this honest and mundane banter is something so incredibly precious that it’s not to be taken for granted.

He finds himself watching Jihoon, taking in his striking features. The cotton candy pink of his hair, the sweep of his cupid’s bow, the way his eyes narrow to near slits when he smiles—Seungcheol’s not embarrassed to admit that he’s enamored.

In fact, he muses silently, is it just him, or do Jihoon’s lips look fuller, redder, _juicier_ tonight? Seungcheol can’t help but stare, and while he chews on another mouthful of stew, he allows himself to daydream about taking that plump bottom lip between his teeth. _You’re such an amazing cook, Seungcheol!_ Jihoon would say. _Let’s make out!_ And, simply because he’s an amazingly agreeable guy, Seungcheol would be obliged to give Jihoon what he wants.

The more he watches Jihoon eat, the more he can tell Jihoon’s affected by his cooking— or maybe by this _intimate, magical moment_. Seungcheol feels proud. Jihoon’s eyes are shining in the fluorescent light, and Seungcheol would swear he’s on the verge of tears. It’s sweet, really.

He watches Jihoon’s chest expand and contract with increasing frequency, and he can just make out the sheen of sweat on his brow and philtrum. Seeing Jihoon in this completely unguarded state, Seungcheol realizes he’s never been braver than in this very moment.

All he needs to do now is confess to Jihoon. Just throw it out there, tell him how he’s felt over the past several months, and ask him out on a real date. The thought makes his heart flutter wildly in his rib cage.

“Jihoon,” he begins, clenching his fingers around the napkin in his lap. “I wanted to say something. I know you haven’t been here all that long, and things between us have been a little—well. A little awkward sometimes?”

Jihoon begins to look distracted, dipping his spoon into the stew in front of him. He lifts a spoonful of liquid an inch above the bowl before dumping it back. He repeats this over and over, as if searching for something.

Seungcheol clears his throat and continues, “…But I want you to know that I think you’re wonderful. You’re so smart, Jihoon, and I really admire how hard you work for all of us. I’m not sure I’ve told you that enough.” Seungcheol smiles his most winning of smiles, but Jihoon is now hastily reaching for his water.

Bottom lip jutting out in a pout, Seungcheol decides to go in for the kill to regain Jihoon’s attention. “Do you think that maybe… sometime, you’d like to—"

“Hyung,” Jihoon interrupts with a wheeze. He sucks in another breath, and Seungcheol can hear it rattle in his chest. One of Jihoon’s pale, slender fingers pulls at his own collar, tugging it away from his neck and revealing pink, blotchy skin beneath. “There aren’t _cucumbers_ in this, by any chance?”

Later that evening, hours after finding out just how much a zucchini resembles a cucumber, Seungcheol is sitting next to Jihoon’s bed with his head hung low, close to the omega but not touching—supportive, but hopefully not suffocating.

If triggering an allergic reaction wasn’t enough to make Jihoon never want to go out with him, Seungcheol’s positive his unmanly wooziness when he watched Jihoon jab the epinephrine shot into his leg did the trick.

An alpha’s job, first and foremost, is to _protect_ their omega, and Seungcheol failed miserably tonight. The thought gnaws at him, creating little spaces for guilt to seep into his heart.

“I’m so sorry, Jihoon,” he whispers into the stillness of the bedroom. Jihoon’s sleeping after their trip to the hospital. Seungcheol’s overwhelming guilt and protective nature have compelled him to stand watch, like his loyal guard dog, even though the doctors assured everyone he would be just fine.

His hands clasp in his lap, kneading the skin of his knuckles. “I was trying to make this a special night, and I just—fucked it all up, didn’t I?”

Even in this state, Jihoon is beautiful. He’s still somewhat swollen from earlier, but the way the moonlight hits his cheekbones makes him look ethereal. Seungcheol reaches up to brush a few strands of hair away from his face, fingertips skimming the warmth of his skin.

Deciding to let Jihoon recuperate in peace, Seungcheol pushes to his feet and retreats to the bedroom door.

“You’re not just gonna give up, are you?” Jihoon’s voice is weak, but it is still powerful enough to halt Seungcheol in his tracks. Seungcheol jerks his head to peer back over his shoulder, squinting at Jihoon in the darkness. “You already tried to kill me. I was kind of interested to see how you’d up your game next time.”

Seungcheol’s back beside Jihoon in an instant, tangling their fingers together. He leans down, rubbing his cheek against the back of Jihoon’s hand. They don’t speak, and Seungcheol’s content to simply listen to Jihoon’s breathing as his consciousness ebbs away, drawing him back to his dreams.

When Seungcheol asks out Jihoon a week later, he doesn’t hesitate to accept.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Everyone loves a grand gesture, hyung.”

So maybe he’s willing to entertain _one more_ idea from Junhui. There’s no denying Junhui’s more of a Casanova than Seungcheol’s ever been, but after the last fiasco, he’s a little hesitant. “Are you sure? He won’t think it’s stupid?”

Junhui produces an apathetic shrug. “Jihoon kind of thinks everything you do is stupid.” Maybe sensing Seungcheol’s impending puppy dog pout, Junhui sighs and continues, “But he’ll like this. I’ve never met an unromantic omega. They’re always looking to see how far their alpha is willing to go for them, y’know?”

Seungcheol steels himself with a determined nod of the head.

“Just do it like you and Jeonghan practiced.”

And so he does. The two of them have prepared a duet, something funky and fun, and he’s decided to sing it straight to Jihoon.

He and Jeonghan plant themselves in the center of the room, and Seungcheol gives Junhui a nod. As the music starts, his back resting against Jeonghan’s, he locks eyes with the omega and gives him his sassiest wink.

_A-yo, turn it up_

_I hate this awkward atmosphere_

_Was the clock’s needle always this loud?_

_I only hear the sound of saliva going down my throat_

_What should I say?_

 

Everyone’s laughing at the pair’s antics. Jeonghan must have been possessed by the spirit of G-Dragon. He’s strangely energized. Seungcheol wagers he’s feeding off the other members’ enthusiasm. Seungcheol is equally exuberant. His eyes shine in the cheap studio lighting, and he catches what seems to be the smallest hint of a smirk on Jihoon’s lips.

_Look baby, I only_

_Want to greet the morning with you_

_Before this night passes,_

_Our own secret party_

 

They’re not _dancing_ , per se—it’s more choreographed theatrics than anything else, but the crowd’s visibly bouncing along with their rhythmic performance. The play between Seungcheol and Jeonghan is great, and everyone’s clapping, laughing, cheering. Jihoon has raised a hand to his face and is peeking through his fingers, as if he’s embarrassed by his boyfriend’s shenanigans, but Seungcheol can see the upturned corners of his lips as his body trembles with impending laughter. Jutting a pointed finger outward in Jihoon’s direction, Seungcheol continues his rap:

 

_You’re going home tomorrow anyway,_

_It’s late, it might be dangerous dear_

_No there’s no other meaning, I’m just worried about you,_

_Yeah what if someone kidnaps you?_

The moment they finish, they’re swarmed by the rest of the group. Supportive voices are congratulating them from all sides, and he can feel hands clapping him on the back. While he’s eternally grateful for all the encouragement, there’s one opinion he values above all others.

After thanking everyone, Seungcheol rocks onto the balls of his feet and glances around the room, trying to locate Jihoon, only to spot the very heels of his shoes as the practice room door shuts behind him.

It’s been a long day, Seungcheol tries to reason, and Jihoon probably just needed to take a break. But even as he decides to simply talk with Jihoon once they return to the dorms, Seungcheol can’t help but notice the hard knot of disappointment solidifying in his throat.

They pack their things and crowd into the hallway. Seungcheol’s herding the younger members to the elevator when he feels a hand grip his wrist.

“Hyung.”

“Junhui?”

Without explanation and without releasing Seungcheol, Junhui starts off down the hallway in the opposite direction of the rest of the members.

Seungcheol does a bit of a dance to ensure he doesn’t trip all over his exhausted, surprised, and uncoordinated feet. “Wait, Junhu—”

“Come on, hyung.”

Junhui, stoic and silent, leads Seungcheol around several corners until they’re outside an empty office. Junhui reaches for the knob, gives it a sharp turn, shoves Seungcheol across the threshold, and slams the door shut. Disoriented in the pitch black of the small room, Seungcheol bumps into something soft and solid before reeling backward, hands blindly groping for the door. “Junhui—what the fuck!”

His hands splay out against the expanse of wall in front of him, fingertips tracing circles in an attempt to find the exit. As his mind registers the sensation of hands gripping at his shirt, Seungcheol lurches forward, away from the hands, face and chest connecting with the wall a little less gently than he intended. “Shit!”

“Woah… easy, Cheol,” the voice soothes, soft and assuring but with a hint of amusement. A hand presses between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, holding him against the wall.

“Jihoon?”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon must be on his tiptoes, because Seungcheol can feel his breath on his ear.

“I liked the song, hyung.” The hand slides lower before scooping up under the hem of Seungcheol’s t-shirt, rucking the fabric up past several vertebrae. Jihoon’s fingers are icy, and Seungcheol gasps, forehead resting on the wall in front of him.

“Y-you did?”

Jihoon’s fingers walk themselves around to the front of Seungcheol’s waistband, flick the button out of its mooring, and drag the zipper downward.

“Jihoon!” Seungcheol chides, sounding scandalized but not moving to escape.

“I told Junhui we’d be a little late getting back tonight.”

And Seungcheol is one hundred percent fine with that.

Jihoon pushes Seungcheol’s pants and boxers down in one fell swoop, letting them pool at his feet. They’re positioned oddly for a blowjob, but he remains quiet while Jihoon’s hands roam along his thighs and hips. “God, Seungcheol—your ass…” Jihoon squeezes into the firm flesh, kneading into his muscles. “C’mere, hyung.” Jihoon tugs at Seungcheol’s hips, pulling his ass back, away from the wall.

He’s left at a strange angle, cheek and chest against the wall, back bowed, ass out. Jihoon’s hands are adventurous. They map out trails along his hipbones and tickle along the bottom curve of his rear. What Seungcheol doesn’t expect to feel is Jihoon spreading his cheeks with one hand while the fingers on the other hand brush across his rim.

Shocked, Seungcheol gasps, and his hips jerk instinctively away from Jihoon, bumping into the wall in front of him. “Jihoon—fuck! What’re you…?”

“Haven’t you ever been fingered, Cheol?”

“Fingered?”

“Yeah, it’s when someone’s fingers are—”

“I know what it _means_ , Jihoon!” Seungcheol snaps, nervousness hiking his pitch upward. They both still for a moment, and Seungcheol lets out an exasperated huff. He swallows, unsure of how to answer.

He takes long enough to respond that Jihoon beats him to it. “It’s okay, Cheol.” Jihoon’s lips press against a clothed shoulder blade, reassuring. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“I want to.” It’s only a whisper, and Jihoon tuts softly behind him. A hand reaches out to him, cupping his balls and giving a light squeeze.

“Let’s do something else.”

“Jihoon, c’mon—I want to,” he assures. Seungcheol steps out of the pile of clothing at his feet and slides his chest down along the wall, allowing him to ease back into his previous position. He gives his ass a tiny, enticing wiggle, hoping Jihoon can detect his eagerness even in the dark.

“It’s okay, Cheol. I’ll suck you off.” But Seungcheol realizes as Jihoon’s fingers walk their way upward, along his perineum and then to his entrance, that he’s being _teased_.

“Please, Ji?”

Jihoon pushes only the tiniest fraction of a fingertip past the ring of muscle before he’s pulling away again.

Seungcheol pouts. “Jihoon, I said—” Seungcheol hears a snap, and then nothing. “What was that?”

The finger is back at his entrance, but this time it’s coated in a cool slickness. “Ready?”

“Please,” he asks once more, and Jihoon obliges, sliding his finger into Seungcheol, rubbing along his walls as he goes. The foreign sensation takes his breath away, makes him squeeze both eyes shut. He’s already panting, though he isn’t sure why. Fingernails dig into the painted surface of the wall.

“Where the hell did you even get l-lube?” Seungcheol tries his damnedest to sound collected, but his wavering tone is enough to tip off Jihoon. His finger works a little further into Seungcheol, just enough to elicit a groan.

“Junhui gave it to me.”

“Why did Junhui have lube with him anyway?”

“Dunno. But he said that if we were—"

“N-nevermind. Can we—can we just not talk about him right now?” Seungcheol whines. The uncomfortable feeling is just starting to abate when Jihoon rubs the tip of his index finger against his rim.

“Can you do one more?” The second fingertip pushes just past his entrance, and Seungcheol instinctively tenses. He can feel lips mouthing at his earlobe. “Relax, baby.” Jihoon waits for a moment until Seungcheol’s muscles have loosened and proceeds to slide his finger deeper. “How’s it feel?”

“Full?” Seungcheol’s gulping down air, and he can almost _hear_ Jihoon smirk.

“It’s only two fingers, Cheol,” he chuckles. “Give me just a second.” With a slow turn of his wrist, Jihoon crooks his fingers, searching, and when he actually finds Seungcheol’s prostate, they both know it by the gasp Seungcheol inhales. “There you go.”

“Why—” Seungcheol whimpers, unsure if he should pull away or push into the massage. “Why are you so good at this?”

Jihoon flattens his fingers against the gland and rubs more insistently. Seungcheol has to lick his lips to keep drool from running down his chin. “I finger myself. And I think of you when I do it.”

“Fuck, Jihoon…” Seungcheol can feel his erection throbbing between his legs as he imagines Jihoon with his own fingers spreading himself apart, moaning his alpha’s name.

“I think about what it’d be like during my heat,” Jihoon continues, tone calm and even, like he just _knows_ what it’s doing to Seungcheol. “About what you’d do to me.”

“Tell me, Ji. Tell me.”

“I think you’d like me on top, wouldn’t you, hyung? Would you slide into me and let me bounce up and down on your dick?”

“Oh, god, _Jihoon_.”

“Or—” Jihoon starts again, punctuating his words with a couple smacks on Seungcheol’s cheeks. “—would you want to dominate your obedient, little omega? Bend me in half and breed me full of your pups?”

Seungcheol isn’t even sure he’s breathing anymore, and he’s positive he has never heard Jihoon talk like this. It’s overwhelming, and he presses his cheek to the cool surface of the wall for balance. “Please, Ji—” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. He just knows whatever he’s getting now is not enough.

“You want more, hyung? You’re such a _greedy_ alpha.” A third finger wriggles into Seungcheol, but he hardly notices. Jihoon reaches down to spread his legs even further apart, and Seungcheol complies without question.

“That song,” Jihoon begins, voice calm even as his fingers prod mercilessly at his prostate. “Did you sing it for me?” Seungcheol whimpers out an affirmative response, and Jihoon rewards him with another sharp spank. The yelp it pulls from Seungcheol has Jihoon chuckling behind him. “So cute.”

“How would the other alphas react if they knew you liked having an omega finger-fuck your tight, virgin hole, hmm? Should I tell them, Cheollie? Should I tell Jeonghan how you begged for it?”

Seungcheol moans out his approval while an unfamiliar mixture of shame and heat licks up his neck, flooding his face with red. He doesn’t answer – at this point, he’s not even sure he _can_ – but he does rock his hips back onto Jihoon’s fingers with increased fervor.

At long last, Jihoon reaches around with his free hand to fist Seungcheol’s cock, and the alpha sobs. Tremors shake his body, and Jihoon coos sweet nothings in his ear, praising his good boy. His hips falter in their rhythm, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he thrusts into Jihoon’s palm. “Fuck!” he wails, and he’s suddenly coming all over the floor in front of him, erection pulsing as Jihoon continues to milk his prostate.

He doesn’t remember much about cleaning up and getting home, but as he lays in bed that night, arms around Jihoon, he smiles to himself, realizing he’s the happiest he’s ever been.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Seungcheol is in love.

Seungcheol is in love, _and today is the day he’s going to tell Jihoon_.

Junhui is frowning as he looks over Seungcheol’s current outfit. “It’s—I mean, it’s a little boring. Where’s the sex appeal?”

Seungcheol pinches the knit fabric of his salmon-colored sweater with both hands, pulling it away from his body for an examination. “I like it. Plus, I look _great_ in pink,” he snorts. “And it matches my Jihoonie’s hair.”

“Yes, yes—but maybe try this instead?” Junhui thrusts a mass of black leather and white silk into Seungcheol’s hands.

It takes Seungcheol an unreasonable amount of time to shimmy into the tight pants. They’re halfway up his thighs when Seungcheol pauses. “Whose _are_ these anyway?”

“Minghao’s.”

“And you didn’t think to get something from Seokmin’s or Soonyoung’s closet? I can’t even fit into these!”

“I thought these would look better. Tighter.”

“They’re—” Seungcheol wheezes as he hikes the pants up to their rightful place. “—plenty tight.” The pants aren’t even zipped and buttoned, and Seungcheol is pretty sure he can’t sit without splitting a seam.

Junhui claps his hands impatiently. “C’mon. Let’s see.”

Seungcheol exhales, sucking in his stomach enough to drag the zipper a couple inches upward. “I can’t… they’re just too small.”

Junhui does not take “no” for an answer. Large hands shove his shoulders, causing Seungcheol to plop backward onto the mattress. “I’ll help.” Junhui veritably pounces on him and settles onto his knees, sitting atop Seungcheol’s thighs, hands roughly tugging at the zipper.

“Junhui, get off me! Won’t—fit—!” Seungcheol grunts, clawing at Junhui’s chest to try and push him off. “—too _tight_!” Seungcheol struggles to free himself, but the beta is both surprisingly strong and insistent.

“C’mon, hyung—you can do it. Just relax,” he orders, hands fisting the two corners of Seungcheol’s pants and putting all of his strength into bringing them together.

“But, Jihoon—”

“He’ll totally be into it,” Junhui assures.

Seungcheol bucks underneath Junhui, but Junhui does not take pity on him. Seungcheol continues to wrestle with Junhui (and Junhui with Seungcheol’s pants) until the door creaks open.

“What the hell is going on in here? You’re scaring Chan.”

Seungcheol jerks his head to the side, spying two visitors.

“He’s got a date tonight,” Junhui responds, redoubling his effort by throwing the weight of his upper body forward and making Seungcheol groan.

“You better be glad Jihoon’s at his studio. I’d be pretty pissed if I heard my boyfriend grunting and huffing like that with another guy.” Jeonghan winks at Mingyu, who smiles shyly in return.

“Can you two please—” Seungcheol swats at Junhui with both hands. “—stop _flirting_ long enough to help me?”

“I think we should go with last year’s Halloween look. White shirt, hair swooped to the side—” Jeonghan, completely ignoring Seungcheol’s plight, strides over to the closet with Mingyu in tow.

“That’s not what I meant by—!” Seungcheol’s cries are cut off with a sharp gasp as Junhui manages to fasten the button. He digs his fingernails into Junhui’s forearms, which neither deters him from his efforts nor keeps him from sliding the zipper all the way up. Seungcheol howls in protest, but Junhui’s yanking him onto his feet in record time.

“But instead… do you still have that pair of red pants, Seungcheol?”

“I like this better,” Junhui defends, hands already working to strip Seungcheol of his shirt. When Seungcheol starts to struggle, Mingyu’s there to assist. With four hands grabbing at fabric from every angle, Seungcheol’s quickly divested of his top, and he feels his arms being shoved into silky sleeves.

And as suddenly as it started, everything stops. Seungcheol has a moment to breathe, to collect himself, as the other three mutely critique his ensemble. As he peers into the mirror across the room, and despite the uncomfortable restriction, Seungcheol decides he doesn’t look half bad.

After several seconds of silence, Junhui sighs. “You’re right. Let’s try the red pants.”

Seungcheol doesn’t even put up a fight as the hyenas descend on him once again.

It takes several mildly painful and entirely exhausting outfit swaps before the trio is satisfied. At the end of all their hustle and bustle, Seungcheol finds himself leaving the dorm in a royal purple dress shirt and charcoal pants with subtle, white pinstripes. Even Seungcheol has to admit that he looks quite dashing.

The first stop is the florist. Seungcheol strides into the flower shop and walks right up to the counter. After he explains the plan for his big confession, the shopkeeper is buzzing with excitement and is more than happy to assist. He spends too much money, and Jihoon will scold him, but Seungcheol is near-giddy as he strolls out with an armful of deep pink stargazer lilies and fiery orange gladioli.

He’s onto the bakery next. He had pre-ordered a cake, and when the girl behind the counter opens the box to reveal the sugary masterpiece, a chocolate round adorned with blueberries and raspberries, Seungcheol smiles and thanks the clerk before eagerly moving onto his final stop.

They may not be able to date in public, but that won’t stop him from feeding Jihoon like a king tonight. Seungcheol has ordered takeout from Jihoon’s favorite family restaurant—jajangmyeon and spicy ramyun, as he knows Jihoon loves mixing the two—and is doing his best to manage the plastic grocery bags, cake box, and bouquet as he makes his way back to the dorms.

He’s about fifteen minutes away when it starts to rain. Hard.

To save himself, he ducks under the awning of a nearby café, but when the rain hasn’t abated ten minutes later, Seungcheol decides he’ll need to find another way home. With the sudden downpour, taxis are scarce, but the nearby subway station looks promising.

Body curled over to try and protect the cardboard cake box, Seungcheol hotfoots it over to the station entrance and hops down the stairs. Once he’s on the platform, he pauses a moment to take stock. Flowers—beautiful. A little wet, but they’ll live. Dinner is still piping hot, and the cake looks pristine. _He_ may look a little soggy, but Jihoon loves the wet look on him.

After fifteen minutes, the other travelers begin to look uneasy, and Seungcheol notices the time is currently ten minutes past when the illuminated status board states the train will arrive. He can’t make out the entirety of the garbled message over the loudspeaker, but “due to a derailment” and “alternate means of transportation” are quite clear. Everyone groans, and the entire crowd, Seungcheol included, shuffle back out to the street level.

 _If you jog, it won’t take that long to get back on foot_ , he reminds himself, and with renewed determination, Seungcheol sets off in the direction of the dorm. He’s making excellent time, even though he’s still careful to not jostle his goods too much. When he’s crossing the last major street, he can almost make out their building in the distance.

“Mochi!” The shrill voice cuts through the rain, and Seungcheol jerks his head to find the source. “Mochi!”

Seungcheol sees the dog circle in front of him just before he feels the tail of its leash wrap around his ankles.

Unable to stop the inevitable, Seungcheol crashes to the ground, a tangled mass of flora, fur, and plastic. Chest to pavement, Seungcheol groans before pushing himself up and onto his hands and knees. Dinner has been spared in the fall, a little tossed around but no worse for wear, and the cake box is miraculously upright on the asphalt in front of his nose. The flowers, however, are a near-complete loss. Having been crushed between his body and the road, a number of stalks are bent, and blossoms hang limply from their calyces.

Though it’s a struggle to convince Mochi it’s not playtime, Seungcheol manages to disentangle the two of them, and Mochi is kind enough to thank him by bounding straight up to his face to drag a long, slobbery kiss up his lips and nose, front paws solidly planted on top of the cake box. Seungcheol can see blues, reds, and purples as they begin to ooze through the box lid.

His owner rushes over, mortified and apologetic, but Seungcheol’s already given in to this failure. He waves her off as kindly as he can, and once he’s picked both himself and his gifts off the pavement, he begins to trudge the couple hundred meters home.

It’s only _things_ , and it’s only _one spoiled night_ , but Seungcheol is overcome with the painful sting of defeat. His beautifully-planned date now ruined, Seungcheol feels crushed under the weight of this sudden and overwhelming disappointment. Even though he’s able to be strong for the other members, he’s always been an inherently sensitive person, and the reality of not professing his love for Jihoon on this specially-curated night looms black and menacing above his head.

His frustration bubbles up in his chest, manifesting itself as tear-flooded eyes and clenched fists. He knows he can’t cry here, not where someone might recognize him, but when he reaches the entrance to their dorm, he can’t hold back any longer. Twin tears streak down his cheeks, and his shoulder pushes against the door as he steps inside. After toeing off his waterlogged shoes, he rounds the corner to the kitchen, only to nearly plow straight into Jihoon.

“God, Cheol—you’re all…” Jihoon pauses as his eyes sweep over Seungcheol’s drooping form. He tentatively rolls the soaked fabric of Seungcheol’s shirt sleeves between his fingertips. “…wet. What happened?”

His body trembles with the cold, and even without glancing in a mirror, Seungcheol knows how he must look. He’s soaked to the bone, and his clothes are clinging tightly to his skin. His once perfectly-coiffed hair, now sopping wet, has fallen in front of his face. Despite the overall dampness of his skin, two still-wet tear tracks glisten in the fluorescent hallway lights. Having Jihoon see him like this only exacerbates his shame, and Seungcheol hangs his head.

Jihoon reaches for the plastic bag, taking it from Seungcheol’s grip, before doing the same with the soggy box. “Come on,” he murmurs, leading them into the kitchen. Seungcheol follows silently and sets the mangled flowers onto the counter. Jihoon takes a moment to open both their dinner and the cake, and a thoughtful smile spreads across his face. “You got these for our date?”

Seungcheol’s bottom lip begins to quiver. “I—” The words can’t manage to push past the knot in his throat. Seungcheol feels like he’s on the verge of crumbling. He closes his red-rimmed eyes with a heavy sigh.

As two more tears make their way down his face, Seungcheol can feel warm arms wrapping around his waist. Jihoon’s chest presses against his own, head burrowing into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you. It’s perfect.”

The soothing words jab at a vulnerable place in Seungcheol’s heart, and a sob wracks his body. His fingers curl into the downy comfort of Jihoon’s sweater. Ragged breaths drown Seungcheol in Jihoon’s scent, and it’s several minutes before he’s willing to let go. As they pull away from each other, Jihoon certainly damper than he was a few minutes prior, Seungcheol sniffles and rubs the heel of his palm into both eye sockets.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, okay?”

“But the food will—” Seungcheol argues weakly.

“The food will reheat, the flowers will perk up in water, and we can eat the cake with spoons in bed.”

Jihoon’s gentle with him as he peels the wet clothes off Seungcheol’s skin in the privacy of their bedroom. He takes care to undress him, one button at a time, until he can push the damp shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. Even as Jihoon’s fingers work to unbutton and unzip Seungcheol’s trousers, there’s nothing sexual about their contact. Jihoon is nothing except a kind and loving warmth. His hands roam Seungcheol’s body to aid, to soothe, but never to entice. Seungcheol is grateful for the easy calm that has settled between them.

Jihoon dresses Seungcheol in pajamas (and quickly does the same for himself) before they return to the kitchen.

They do everything as Jihoon said they would. The food is microwaved, and Seungcheol fishes a long-forgotten vase out of one of the tallest cabinets. Jihoon grooms the flowers with kitchen shears, pruning away any flowers that were not going to last the night. The cake is delicious, disfigured as it is, and for once, Jihoon says nothing about the crumbs in their bed.

As they lay in bed together, Seungcheol can feel Jihoon’s breathing even out against the back of his neck. Jihoon hasn’t pushed Seungcheol at all tonight. He hasn’t asked about the events of the day, and he hasn’t teased Seungcheol about his sudden flush of emotions. Instead, he’s chosen to smooth one hand up and down the muscles of Seungcheol’s chest and pull him close enough to where Seungcheol can feel every inch of Jihoon’s body behind him.

Seungcheol is content to melt into Jihoon’s hold and let his touches lull him to sleep. Just as he feels himself start to nod off, Jihoon’s lips move against the nape of his neck.

“I love you, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol snuggles back into Jihoon’s hold and laces their fingers together in front of his chest, holding their hands over his heart. “I love you too, Jihoon.”

Seungcheol’s eyes close, and he smiles into the darkness.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Two months later, Mingyu is holding a key card in front of Seungcheol as if it were meant to be an offering, but it’s still very clear by his tight grip on the piece of plastic that he’s not quite willing to relinquish it. They’ve been standing here, frozen at their current impasse, for several heavy moments. Seungcheol’s willing to be patient as he knows something’s new and different about this situation. Mingyu’s normally-playful expression has hardened into something foreign and serious.

Mingyu frowns and finally extends his arm, presenting the key to Seungcheol. “Jihoon asked me to give this to you.”

“Jihoon?”

“He’s in heat.”

When he arrives at the hotel room, he finds Jihoon has been waiting for him. The moment Seungcheol has opened the door and crossed the threshold of the hotel room, Jihoon slams the door behind him, fists the material of Seungcheol’s collar, and uses it to swing him around, pinning the alpha against the wall.

Mingyu’s description of “in heat” isn’t _wrong_ , just exaggerated. His heat must just be starting, because Jihoon appears to still be in full control of all his faculties, even though he’s kissing along the edge of his jaw like he _needs_ him. Seungcheol is bombarded with Jihoon’s scent, and he drinks it in with several long breaths.

Seungcheol’s shirt, now having served its purpose, is the first article of clothing to be removed as Jihoon’s hands slide impatiently upward from his waist to peel the garment off his body. Jihoon removes his own shirt just as fast, and his plush, pink lips are soon sucking on Seungcheol’s.

“Touch me, Seungcheol. Put your hands on me,” he coaxes, nails scraping down the flat, soft plane of his chest. By the time they reach the waistband of his pants, Seungcheol’s whimpering into his mouth.

Jihoon’s left hand tightens in his hair while his right dips down to cup his erection.

“Jihoon!” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as he instinctively wraps both arms around Jihoon’s body, fingers kneading into the soft, cotton-covered flesh of his ass.

“C’mon, Seungcheol, c’mon,” Jihoon urges in a pleading whisper, teeth dragging over Seungcheol’s pulse point.

Seungcheol is drowning in Jihoon, struggling to get fresh oxygen to his brain and overwhelmed by the warm, heady scent of Jihoon’s heat, but is still miraculously able to swallow a long breath and drag himself to the surface to achieve a single moment of clarity. “Bedroom, b-bedroom,” Seungcheol pleads, and Jihoon’s more than willing to grab him by the hand, fingers lacing together, and tug Seungcheol in the direction of the bed.

Once they’ve both stripped down, nothing left to hide, Seungcheol joins Jihoon on the mattress. “How do you want to…?”

Jihoon’s smiling, and it’s a rare, beautiful, and captivating thing. “I want you to take care of me, Seungcheol.”

It’s all Seungcheol needs to hear. He settles himself on his knees, near the foot of the bed, and wraps five fingers around one of Jihoon’s ankles. He lifts Jihoon’s left leg to place it on his shoulder, lips pressing gentle reassurances along the inside of his limb. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers into the skin, kisses inching further up his leg until he meets the juncture of his thigh and hip. Jihoon’s muscles are taut, and he’s rolling a nipple between his thumb and index finger. He hums an encouragement, and Seungcheol feels emboldened.

Seungcheol pulls back only enough to allow himself room to repeat the same process on Jihoon’s other leg. He takes his time, lips and tongue working in tandem to suck several pink bruises into the smooth expanse of flesh. Jihoon shows his appreciation for the claiming action by issuing a groan, hips rolling into the air, fruitlessly trying to find friction.

Nuzzling between his thighs, Seungcheol’s tongue slowly works to circle Jihoon’s balls, one at a time, until the omega is panting, hand coming down from his chest to ease into Seungcheol’s hair. “More—please, please…” Smirking, the Seungcheol’s tongue meanders its way along Jihoon’s cock, laving up the length. Jihoon whines, high and unashamed, second hand reaching outward to caress the ivory sheets.

Reaching the tip, Seungcheol hesitates for only a moment before he slides downward, his mouth enveloping Jihoon until he can go no farther. Pulling off slowly, Seungcheol moans, vibrations causing his partner to buck his hips, catching him by surprise. The head bumps the back of his throat, and Seungcheol sputters softly, inhales a sharp breath, but Jihoon’s too far gone to notice. He goes down on Jihoon again, this time not dipping as deeply but using his tongue to repeatedly brush over the slit. Lips close around the head, and he sucks enthusiastically, trying to push Jihoon further toward the edge.

“Seungcheol—“ Jihoon whimpers, needy. But if this going to be their first time together – the first of _many_ – he decides he’s not ready to end things so quickly.

Leaning back just a hair, Seungcheol simply smiles down at the omega. “Jihoon.” And he says it so reverently that Jihoon stills, brows arching above chocolate eyes. “Jihoon,” he repeats. “Hold your legs for me.” The whispered command is paired with Seungcheol pushing Jihoon’s thighs toward his chest, spreading them outward at the same time as his tongue drags across his bottom lip.

It takes a few moments, but when Jihoon’s heat-muddled brain finally connects the dots, he makes a primal, guttural noise in the back of his throat and snakes his forearms under his knees, holding himself open for Seungcheol.

Both hands move to hold either side of Jihoon’s ass, and they work together to part his cheeks, giving Seungcheol an unobstructed view. Slick is already oozing from his hole, and Seungcheol is dying for a taste. Without any hesitation, he lowers his head to Jihoon’s body, lips sucking anxiously at his rim.

“Oh—oh!” Jihoon’s panting, and Seungcheol growls deep and low in his chest. His thumbs meet beneath his lips and tug leisurely, spreading the skin and allowing Seungcheol to push the tip of his tongue past the ring of muscle. He works his tongue in lazily, as if he had all the time in the world to please Jihoon, and wiggles the tip against the insides of his walls. He can’t see it, but he can feel Jihoon tense, and Seungcheol wants _more_.

Jihoon’s chest heaves up and down with his arousal, but his eyes never leave Seungcheol. Wordlessly, pale fingers find their way back to Jihoon’s hole, the middle one slipping in with relative ease. Jihoon is nothing if not eager, canting his hips downward against Seungcheol. After a few thrusts, he cautiously slides the first finger out and tries again with two, careful to open Jihoon up slowly, tenderly.

“You’re so sexy like this, Jihoonie.”

Crooking both fingers, he starts rubbing experimentally against the tight, inner walls, gaze never abandoning Jihoon’s. He’s looking for an acknowledgement, some kind of a sign that he’s found what he’s looking for, and after a slight angle change, Jihoon is squeezing his eyes shut and rocking his hips with more fervor.

“There, baby?” Seungcheol coos, pressing a little harder, rubbing a little more insistently.

“D-don’t… don’t tease me, Seungcheol…” It’s supposed to be a reprimand, but Jihoon’s becoming desperate, and his nostrils flare as he inhales a long, shuddering breath.

Seungcheol smiles, watching Jihoon’s arms tighten, bringing his knees impossibly closer to his chest. “God, you’re so _tight_ , baby…” Leaning forward once more, Seungcheol’s tongue resumes its exploration of Jihoon’s rim, licking around his fingers with gusto. He spreads his fingers and wriggles his tongue in between, fucking his hole with the smooth muscle before withdrawing to kiss his perineum, breath hot along Jihoon’s balls.

Again, Jihoon’s begging him for more, and Seungcheol hazards the introduction of a third finger. This time, he can tell Jihoon can feel the stretch, and he immediately stills his progress, trying to calm the other by wrapping his free hand around his cock, giving a few light, distracting pumps.

“I’m okay,” Jihoon breathes. “Keep going.”

Once three fingers are able to thrust in and out smoothly, Seungcheol finds his prostate again, shamelessly massaging, dragging pitiful noises from the omega’s lips. He nearly loses himself in the moment, his aching hard-on almost forgotten in favor of making a mess of Jihoon.

“Wait, s-stop… Cheol, Cheol,” Jihoon cries, pleading. Seungcheol’s never seen him this desperate before. “I’m gonna come. Please, I can’t… your knot…”

Seungcheol smiles and plants several kisses along Jihoon’s creamy thighs. “Ssh. It’s okay, baby. I’ll knot you next, yeah? Just enjoy it,” he chuckles as his fingers resume their rapid fucking. Jihoon opens his mouth, as if to protest, just as Seungcheol lowers his mouth onto Jihoon’s cock.

It only takes a few bobs of his head before Jihoon is clawing at his shoulders and coming in his mouth. Seungcheol swallows eagerly, but he doesn’t stop. His fingers continue to prod Jihoon’s prostate, and Seungcheol flattens his tongue, allowing him to hollow his cheeks and suck on Jihoon’s dick like he’s hungry for it.

“Hyung, hyung,” Jihoon cries, trembling with oversensitivity but still not pushing Seungcheol away.

Lifting his head, Seungcheol kisses the inside of Jihoon’s knee. “Tell me what you want, Jihoon.”

“Want you.”

“Want me to what?” At this point, Seungcheol’s just teasing him, but his voice is sweet and soft. After all this time, he wants to hear Jihoon tell him how much he needs it.

“Want you to fuck me. Want you inside me. Want to come on your knot.” When he doesn’t respond right away, Jihoon continues, “Seungcheol, _please_ —“

The words set something alight in Seungcheol’s chest. The corners of Seungcheol’s lips pull upward into a smile, expression steeped in adoration for this tough, amazing, _brilliant_ man beneath him. Jihoon’s arms are starting to tremble from the continued strain of holding up his legs, and his body is shimmering, covered in a light sheen of sweat. He looks like an angel.

He settles himself between Jihoon’s thighs, and the omega immediately moves to wrap his legs around Seungcheol’s waist. He aligns himself with Jihoon’s hole, rests their foreheads together, and tentatively rolls his hips forward. Jihoon, in turn, hooks his ankles and pulls him deeper, and they both moan into each other’s open mouth.

“Jihoon! Ji, I… o-oh my god—“ The sensation is overwhelming, and a veritable fire zings up length of Seungcheol’s spine. He’s encouraged to move, Jihoon’s soft mouth brushing against his with the whispered words, but a nearly-inaudible whimper of a sound escapes Seungcheol’s lips. “I think I might… need a minute,” he wheezes, making a concerted effort to regulate his breathing. His response has Jihoon laughing, and the tension is broken. Seungcheol’s thankful.

“Too much for you?”

Seungcheol’s wide-eyed reaction is apparently funny enough that Jihoon continues laughing, and Seungcheol realizes as he listens to this most beautiful noise, that this moment, this _exact_ point in his life, will stay with him forever. Jihoon and his laugh are imprinted on his soul for a lifetime.

Seungcheol eases back, the slow drag of his cock along Jihoon’s walls making him shudder helplessly, before thrusting his hips forward, beginning to work up a nice rhythm. His actions are gentle, thoughtful. He doesn’t want to hurt Jihoon, and he works hard to hold himself back from what his alpha brain is urging him to do: breed, knot, and fuck Jihoon full of his cum. He’s just starting to plant open-mouth kisses along the omega’s collarbone when Jihoon speaks next.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” he’s egged on between labored breaths. “Is this how an _alpha_ fucks?”

The challenge stills his hips’ movements, and Seungcheol tilts his head up, peering into Jihoon’s mischievous, smiling eyes. After only the smallest hesitation, he reaches behind his back, unhooking Jihoon’s ankles to let him throw one leg back over his shoulder. He leans back onto his knees, grabs a pillow, and shoves it under Jihoon’s tailbone for a little extra lift.

Wordlessly, Seungcheol restarts his movements, relentless from the get-go. He’s thrusting with all his might, and even above the wet, sloppy noises of slick and skin, Seungcheol can still hear Jihoon gasping, pleading. His knot starts to swell, and Seungcheol knows he won’t last much longer. He reaches a hand to grasp Jihoon’s cock, smearing the precum down his shaft, stroking him desperately, whispering encouragements and chanting his praises. “You’re so good, baby. So beautiful. Come on, Ji. Come for me.”

With a wave of blissful satisfaction, Seungcheol watches as Jihoon bucks upward toward his hand and then tenses, cum spilling over Seungcheol’s hand and onto the omega’s abdomen. His knot continues to swell, and it becomes a little more difficult to push into Jihoon with every thrust. With one final jerk of his hips, Seungcheol lodges his knot deep into the omega.

It only takes another several tugs on his knot, Jihoon’s tight walls gripping his cock, for Seungcheol to peak, pressing his body flush against Jihoon’s ass as he grinds his hips forward, milking both through their orgasms.

Not much is said to disturb the afterglow. Jihoon relaxes weakly into the mattress before Seungcheol rolls them over, letting Jihoon’s body drape over his own. He curls his fingers around one of Jihoon’s forearms, lifting it to his lips. The tip of his nose brushes the palm, and he presses the softest kisses to the delicate skin of his wrist.

Exhausted but sated, they both drift off, hand in hand, to the soundtrack of their shared breathing.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“I'm not sure what quidditch position you play,” Jihoon begins, tone cool and even as he and Seungcheol watch some of the younger members entertain themselves before a concert. Jihoon tilts his gaze away from Seungcheol, confident as he continues, “…but I bet you're a keeper.”

There’s one moment of silence, and then another. Seungcheol is the metaphorical deer in the headlights, and he isn’t quite sure what to do.

Meanwhile, Jihoon’s regret is swift and powerful. His fingers tense and curl into balls, eyes squeezing shut. “God, fuck—Jun! Junhui, you get your ass over here right now!” he bellows.

Seungcheol’s still staring, eyes blinking in a slow and steady rhythm. “What… what _was_ that?”

“Fucking Jun told me that I wasn’t being _romantic_ enough—said you’d like it if I said something… something more…” Jihoon’s frustration and embarrassment have reached their peak potential, coloring the tips of his ears a flaming coral. “Wen Junhui!” he howls. But the second he lunges in the direction of the now-fleeing Junhui, Seungcheol grabs him by the arm.

His hand walks itself down Jihoon’s limb, and Seungcheol tangles their fingers together. After a gentle squeeze, Seungcheol grins. It’s one of the rare grins that only surfaces when he knows Jihoon’s flustered and self-conscious about his emotions. It’s a gentle grin—a loving, careful, and understanding grin. “I did. I liked it.”

Jihoon looks up at Seungcheol, wide-eyed, uncertain, and vulnerable, like he almost expects Seungcheol to tease him. “You did?”

“Yeah. I liked it. _Loved it_ , in fact.”

Jihoon relaxes, fingertips rubbing into the valley of Seungcheol’s cupped palm.

“Love _you_ ,” Seungcheol continues, and it’s enough to make Jihoon cringe.

“Shut up.” Despite the admonishment, Jihoon’s fingers only tighten around Seungcheol’s, and the omega tilts his head forward, resting his forehead against Seungcheol’s chest. They can’t show too much affection here—nothing too far beyond what could be considered typical skinship, but Seungcheol longs to wrap his arms around Jihoon and pull him closer. Instead, he simply inhales his scent deep into his lungs and strokes the ridges of Jihoon’s knuckles.

“Love you, too, Cheollie.”

They enjoy a moment of quiet together, likely their last until their concert is over, before their managers start to round up the members for their entrance.

“You know, I’ve always thought I had more of a beater’s build. Don’t you think? My arms alone—” Seungcheol starts to roll up the edge of his sleeve, garnering an eye roll from Jihoon.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Jihoon huffs back over his shoulder as he moves to join the others.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“I’m ready, Cheol,” Jihoon pants in his ear, nails dragging down the length of his spine. “I want it. Want you.”

Seungcheol is thrusting into Jihoon with reckless abandon, grunting with each snap of his hips. At this point, Seungcheol doesn’t even remember how many of Jihoon’s heats they’ve spent together, and he knows that, at the peak of his heat, Jihoon’s insatiable. He’s described it as needing a second orgasm so desperately that he can hardly breathe, even before he’s reached his first. So Seungcheol always tries his very best to give Jihoon everything he’s craving.

“Bite me, hyung. _Claim me_.”

Seungcheol’s close, and he can feel his knot just starting to expand and catch on Jihoon’s rim. As he watches Jihoon tilt his head back and to the side, fully exposing his jugular in a rare show of total submission, Seungcheol can think of nothing he wants more. Even so, the words stun him into an abrupt halt. He holds his hips still, groin firmly pressed to Jihoon’s ass.

In the back of his mind, he can hear a voice, an uncertainty. He and Jihoon had talked about this before, but they hadn’t come to any sort of concrete decision. Seungcheol would fully and completely devote himself to Jihoon in an instant, but they’re still young, and Jihoon’s never seemed entirely sure, not quite ready to make that leap.

Even though Jihoon’s words are trying to worm their way into every crevice of Seungcheol’s consciousness, Seungcheol knows Jihoon isn’t fully in control of his faculties right now. The heat makes his mind murky. Reality and reason are playing second and third fiddle to impulse, and Seungcheol knows he wouldn’t be saying all this if his hormones weren’t commanding him to do so. “Jihoon, I can’t. We have to talk about this first,” he reasons, attempting to shake his mind free of the cloud of Jihoon’s scent. “You can’t give consent like this. Not now.”

“I’m consenting _right now_ , Seungcheol. _Please_.” Jihoon rolls his hips upward, over and over, attempting to restart their rhythm. He tightens his ankles behind Seungcheol’s back, pulling him closer. “ _C’mon_ , Cheollie. Don’t you want me?”

Seungcheol groans, giving into the urge to rock against Jihoon. The squelching sound of slick and cum against skin only encourages him, and he finds himself resting his forehead against Jihoon’s collarbone. “God, baby— _yes_ ,” Seungcheol’s voice shakes with uncertainty as he feels his conviction waning. “I do. I want you. But _please_ … don’t ask me for this, Jihoon. Don’t—"

“ _Alpha_ …” The siren call wraps its melodious tendrils around Seungcheol and serenades his base instincts—the ones that are imprinted deep in his DNA and drive him to claim, to knot, to breed. Seungcheol feels powerless to resist. The dizziness begins to take hold, and Seungcheol’s thrusts become a frenzied, uneven rhythm.

He surges forward, grabbing a fistful of Jihoon’s hair and making him cry out as he wrenches his head backward, stretching the already-taut tendons of Jihoon’s throat until he can see sinew strain under skin. Seungcheol’s teeth scrape against Jihoon’s neck. He can hear his partner whimper beneath him. Thin, pale fingers reach around to grip his ass, helping their bodies meet with a smack at every thrust.

And _oh fuck_ , he swiftly realizes in the panic-filled sub-basement of his brain, _I don’t think I can stop_.

“You’re _mine_ , Jihoon. You’ve _always_ been mine,” Seungcheol snarls, pressing the tip of his nose deep enough into the hollow under his jaw that he can feel Jihoon’s pulse.

“Yours,” Jihoon concedes weakly, body going limp and agreeable under Seungcheol’s weight.

Seungcheol gives one final, rough shove of his hips, lodging his knot deep in Jihoon. His hips kick forward frantically in small, grinding movements, rubbing himself insistently against Jihoon’s prostate. Jihoon is begging to come, likely wanting Seungcheol’s fist around his cock, but Seungcheol’s only able to focus on his own climax.

“ _Mine_ ,” he repeats, past the point of being able to say anything else. His grip tightens in Jihoon’s hair, knuckles blanching with the pressure. He pants heavily with the exertion, free hand moving to wrap around one of Jihoon’s thighs, hoisting his leg up to adjust the angle and allow him to push his knot deeper into his lover.

A small part of his brain registers warm stickiness smearing against their bellies as Jihoon trembles in his hold. He sucks in a deep breath, showing no mercy for Jihoon’s obvious oversensitivity as he continues to jerk his hips. Seungcheol’s eyes fixate on the expanse of skin he had mentally reserved years ago for his mark, wetting his lips in anticipation.

His orgasm surprises him, crashing over him in a wave of electricity and frayed nerve endings. And in a split second, Seungcheol jerks his head to the right, parts his jaws wide, captures a mouthful of flesh, and bites down with all his might.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

It’s been awkward with Jihoon in the days since his heat ended. He had stayed with Jihoon, helping him through the worst of his cycle, before Jihoon unceremoniously shoved him out of their bedroom, naked save for the bedsheet around his waist. Since then, it’s been nothing but clipped responses and sideways glances. Seungcheol doesn’t really blame him.

He stands in the bathroom, towel around his waist and fingernails scratching at the skin of his forearm, trying to peel back the edge of the medical tape clinging to his arm hair. Once he manages to free a corner of the tape, he counts to three and jerks his hand, freeing the tape and the attached gauze.

“Damn, hyung. Jihoon must have gotten you _good_.”

Mingyu has no way of knowing that the scab-covered ring of teeth marks embedded in Seungcheol’s forearm are actually his own. So even though he supposes he should teach the boy a lesson, make him show some goddamn respect for his elder, Seungcheol simply forces a quiet smile. Mingyu doesn’t mean any harm, and Seungcheol’s likely just sensitive from the events of the past week.

“Didn’t realize he was quite so _feisty_ in bed!”

Seungcheol huffs.

“…or that you were so _tasty_!”

Now, Seungcheol prides himself on being a patient, caring leader. He really does. But the longer he listens to Mingyu’s good-natured goading, the more he swears he’s going to lose it. He reaches out to the sink, fingers curling around the porcelain edge of the sink. He takes one breath, then another.

“Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to be doing the… y’know, _biting_ , hyung?”

 _That does it. That_ fucking _does it_ , Seungcheol tells himself. He whirls around to face Mingyu, upper lip raised into a sneer, fully prepared to lash out, until he’s abruptly interrupted by the sound of incoming footsteps on the bathroom tile.

“How would you know? Did someone already mark your sorry ass?”

Jeonghan’s got a hold on Mingyu’s ear, and he uses it to twist Mingyu’s head back and forth, eyeing his neck for show. Mingyu howls and attempts to jerk his ear free of Jeonghan’s grasp, and when the unrelenting fingers only double down in their efforts to hold him, Mingyu cries, “Hyung, please!”

With a bit more flair than necessary, Jeonghan flicks his wrist, releasing Mingyu with a ripple of laughter. “Shouldn’t you be practicing?”

Mingyu’s lip wobbles theatrically in a bid to gain sympathy for his rough treatment. Jeonghan lifts a hand to ruffle his hair. “You know I only have eyes for you, hyung.” And it’s back—that sweet, puppy-like naïveté and playfulness, and Seungcheol’s shoulders dip as the frustration bleeds from his body.

Mingyu bounds out of the bathroom, seemingly unaffected by the entire exchange, and Jeonghan looks slyly at Seungcheol. “Wanna talk about it?”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Jihoon’s cold shoulder act continues longer than Seungcheol initially anticipated. Sure, Jihoon’s been mad at him before, but it’s never gone on for this long. It’s been weeks, and Seungcheol’s beginning to get worried. If only there were something that could bring them back together. Something Jihoon couldn’t ignore. It finally comes to Seungcheol in the shower while he teases his soapy hair into a mohawk.

Sex! And not just any sex, but _adventurous_ sex. Jihoon’s always encouraging Seungcheol to try something new, and there have been a handful of things Seungcheol has been _just_ this side of too shy to try quite yet. A smile spreads across his lips as Seungcheol mentally formulates his plan of attack. He knows just the ticket.

It takes a little preparation, but Seungcheol manages to pinpoint a time when Jihoon’s sure to be working in his studio. After last night’s concert, Jihoon will be fired up about their next comeback and will sequester himself in his studio to work on new tracks for the group. Studio sex is his ticket to getting Jihoon speaking to him again.

He carefully folds his clothes and sets them on a nearby shelf before easing into Jihoon’s desk chair, bare ass on the faux leather seat. He had toyed with the idea of lingerie (Jihoon did mention that he’d like to see Seungcheol in something lacy), but he’s ultimately opted to strip himself completely naked and wait for Jihoon, save for a strategically-placed plushie he had grabbed off Jihoon’s desk.

The waiting is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. Even though no one would dare enter Jihoon’s studio without permission, the thought that someone _could_ makes Seungcheol’s cock throb. He’s already half-hard by the time he sees the doorknob twist and the door push open.

“…but the pitch might be a little high, sooo--ohhh my god, Cheol!”

Seungcheol blinks once, then twice, before he registers the fact that there are three faces staring back at him.

Seungkwan curls an arm around Seokmin’s head and claps one hand over his eyes at the same time he shields his own. “Holy shit, this is a _place of business_ , hyung!” he chastises as Seokmin turns his head into the safety of Seungkwan’s shoulder.

Jihoon doesn’t so much as breathe as his eyes widen into large, glassy orbs.

Seungcheol reaches out and grabs the first thing he can find – loose bits of sheet music from Jihoon’s desk – and uses the fistfuls of paper to cover as much as he’s able.

Seungkwan steps blindly backward and out of the studio, dragging Seokmin with him. “For heaven’s sake, keep that in the bedroom!” They’re gone as quickly as they came, door closed behind them, and both Jihoon and Seungcheol stare at each other in stunned silence.

After several long, awkward moments, Jihoon manages to croak out, “What in the _actual fuck_ are you doing?”

“Well,” Seungcheol begins slowly, as if gauging Jihoon’s reaction. “You’ve been a little… _distant_ lately. I figured you were mad at me after what happened, so I thought I should do something to get us back to spending time together.”

When he’s finished and is awaiting a scolding, Jihoon merely shakes his head. “You idiot—I’m not mad at you!”

“You’re not?”

Jihoon sighs. “No, Cheol. I’m not.”

“Then—why were you ignoring me? I mean, after… well.”

“I was embarrassed, Cheol.”

Jihoon’s voice is barely above a whisper, and Seungcheol fears his heart will burst with a million tiny emotions he can’t even name.

Jihoon walks behind his chair and leans down, wrapping his arms around the alpha and resting his chin on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, hyung. I shouldn’t have pushed you. At the time, I guess I didn’t even really realize what I was saying. But when my mind cleared a little, I…” Jihoon grunts, and Seungcheol doesn’t push.

“Just so you know, I’m ready when you are, Ji—but we’re not in any rush.”

Jihoon hums in agreement, and the two fall into a comfortable silence.

It takes Seungcheol several minutes to remember his current state of nakedness. He twists his head to the side, watching Jihoon as he wiggles his eyebrows. “So—no studio sex?”

Jihoon grins. “Not today, buddy.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“…and _that’s_ when I knew I’d be with Jihoon the rest of my life.” Seungcheol beams before stuffing the last dumpling in his mouth.

Junhui snorts at the same time Jihoon smacks his own forehead with the palm of his hand.

“When you exposed yourself to your bandmates and got sex-rejected by your boyfriend?” Jeonghan guffaws.

“Sex-jected?” Mingyu offers.

Junhui shakes his head. “Cockblocked.”

“Doesn’t there need to be a third party involved to get cockblocked?”

“Nope.”

“So can you cockblock yourself?”

“Sure. Autocockblock.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Doesn’t some of this depend on how you even _define_ ‘cockblock’?”

“Wait, so is Seungcheol the cockblock ** _er_** or the cockblock ** _ee_**?”

“The cockblocked.”

“That’s also not a thing.”

As the others argue, Seungcheol gives Jihoon’s hand a gentle squeeze under the table. He leans to the side, resting his head on Jihoon’s shoulder and nuzzling his nose against the bite mark in the crook of Jihoon’s neck.

“Cheol?” Jihoon murmurs lowly as he interlaces their fingers. “We never did end up having sex in the studio, did we?”

Seungcheol blinks, eyes widened.

“Interested?”

Seungcheol doesn’t even mind the sound of his friends’ snickering as he slings a complaining Jihoon over his shoulder and dashes out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I've ever written "cockblock" so many times in my life.


End file.
